Livewire

Chapter 2

Three Months Earlier.

Ice and glass clinked together when the frozen cubes were dropped into the tumbler, closely followed by rich amber liquid. Kyle knocked back the first gulp and sighed. He sat on the barstool, hunched over with his face smooshed into one hand, prickling his palm on the two-day old stubble.
    "¿Qué pasa?" asked Hector, "why so glum amigo?"

Kyle pulled his eyes from the floating ice cubes to look up at the old bar keeper. "Today is my birthday."

"A day for celebration then," said Hector. "You should be with your family in Londres, no?"

Kyle huffed again and swilled the ice round in the tumbler. "I don't have any family left. Not that I ever had a real family."

Hector took out a glass and poured himself a whiskey. "That sounds like a sad story."
    "Sad, unpleasant, it's all the same."

Hector looked around at the other patrons. None of them were sitting near Kyle. He chose the spot at the bar for that exact reason. It was only the regulars. A pair of grandads playing chess, and four middle aged men with beer bellies who came to escape their nagging wives. Kyle knew their faces well, but he had never spoken to them.

Hector turned up the radio blaring Fresco-Veracruz FM, to drown out the others. Kyle winced internally when the Mexican pop hit his ear drum.

"Salud," said Hector, holding his glass up. They both clinked classes and finished off their drinks. Hector immediately grabbed the bottle and refilled them both.
    "I suppose you wanna know anyway?" said Kyle, cocking his eyebrow.

Hector shrugged, raising his palms and smirking. "You know I love to gossip."
    Kyle knocked back the glass. "You better keep them coming then."  He slammed the glass down on the bar for Hector to refill. "I never knew my dad. He weren't decent enough to stick around and mum was too busy getting high to bother with me. She'd do or sell whatever it took to get her next fix, which usually meant prostituting herself. She was too busy shagging some greasy stranger or getting high to even put food on the table. The person who actually made sure the bills were paid was a man I knew only as Uncle Joe."

Hector offered him a cigarette, then lit it for him before he continued the tale.

"He weren't my real Uncle of course, but he'd check in on us now and then. He was shagging mum too but he was a nice bloke. It kept her away from the usual dodgy fuckers she'd pick up. He was dodgy himself like, but not in the same way."  Kyle paused to wet his throat with drink. "I was only twelve the day I found mum dead on the sofa."  He paused again. "A heroin overdose. So Uncle Joe took me in and raised me on what he called essential life skills. How to hold my own in a fist fight and how to rob a fella without getting caught. That's how I got into the East London crime circuit, picking pockets and robbing the occasional corner shop. It weren't much but it was enough to buy a pack of smokes and a dirty magazine."

Kyle wiped the sweat from his brow and took another swig.

"Uncle Joe always made sure that I never robbed anyone under the protection of Mr Coulter, a name well known about town. He had a reputation, even the police didn't get involved with him. Only Scotland Yard had the balls to go sniffing around his interests."

His eyes darted to the other regulars in the bar, checking that none of them were listening in.

"On my sixteenth birthday, Uncle Joe takes me down to the pub for what he calls a man's drink. I'd been drinking tins of lager since before mum died so I knew this could only mean spirits. So we goes down to this rough place called the King's Head and I know it's a favourite of gang men. Well Joe orders me a whiskey." Kyle held up his glass. He stubbed out the cigarette while Hector refilled the dwindling glasses, keeping his eyes on him while he poured.